


Four Times Jack Finds Sam Exhausted in Her Lab and 1 Time He Wakes Her Up Like He Wants To

by professortennant



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: 4 Times 1 Time, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 15:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14814098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: Four times Jack finds Sam in her lab--asleep, tired, and working tirelessly to rescue her team. And one time he finally wakes her up the way he's always wanted to.





	Four Times Jack Finds Sam Exhausted in Her Lab and 1 Time He Wakes Her Up Like He Wants To

**I.**

He’s accustomed to hard-headed soldiers; knows the single-minded focus of a mission and how it can create tunnel vision. He’s known men--known himself--to go days without sleep until the mission is complete.

But he has never known a solider-scientist--has never known Samantha Carter. 

He watches as she forsakes food and sleep, even opting to push aside cups of blue Jell-O that Daniel brings her. When he suggests she take a night to sleep, to at least leave the base and go home (”Don’t you have plants to water and talk to, Carter?”), she just smiles at him and doesn’t quite meet his eye as she promises to get some rest.

But she doesn’t leave and he knows that after a few well-phrased words from Hammond and Janet, Jack needs to make it an order. For all of her inner-geek, Carter is military through and through and won’t disobey a direct order.

On the way to her lab, he grumbles under his breath about young Captains and a stupid need to prove herself, and doesn’t she  _know_  she proved herself to him a long time ago? And now he has to order her. 

He’s working himself up into quite the rant when he turns the corner and storms into her lab, his steps sharp and steady. 

“Carter! I told you--”

But the sight before him brings him up short. His Captain is slumped over her her desk, face buried in her arms, mouth parted, and her hair falling into her eyes. 

Papers and screwdrivers and blank microscope slides are littered around her folded arms and there’s a smear of ink at the corner of her mouth and a half-chewed pen hanging from her hand. It’s strangely endearing. 

The rush of warmth that floods his chest shocks him and he finds himself clenching his hand into a fist to stop from reaching out and brushing her hair back from her forehead. 

And then he thinks of the way she has worked herself into this state: ignoring the advice of her friends and superior officers, prioritizing work over food, and the affection that once filled his chest is replaced with frustration. 

He rolls his eyes and strides forward, coming to stop beside her. He takes another look at her and  _almost_  regrets what he’s about to do. 

Instead, he takes a deep breath and adopts his best CO voice, harsh and barking, and yells, “CAPTAIN CARTER! GET YOUR ASS OUTTA THAT CHAIR.”

There’s a flurry of papers as Carter pushes herself up from the lab table, eyes wide and a flush staining her cheeks. She comes to a stiff attention and stares at him and surreptitiously tries to wipe a line of drool from her mouth and straightens her uniform. 

“Sir, I--”

He holds up a hand and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Go home, Carter. That’s an order.”

Incredulously, she looks like she wants to protest, but a sharp look from him quells her. Instead, she nods at him with a soft, “Yes, sir.”

Jack leaves her to gather her things and calls out over his shoulder, “Don’t make me get an airman to escort you.”

 _Scientists_ , he thinks. 

**II.**

The base is unusually quiet--no klaxons and alarms, no foothold situation, no dire alien threat headed for the gate. Due to Pentagon budget cuts, the number of missions have been reduced for the time being and SG-1 is on standby until their mission to PX1-16J2. 

It’s the only explanation for why Jack, Daniel, and Teal’c have inexplicably found themselves in a prank war in the middle of the SGC base. Daniel’s notes have been glued together (courtesy of Jack), Teal’c’s pants and shirts have been swapped for grass skirts and Hawaiian shirts (courtesy of Daniel, though truth be told, Teal’c doesn’t seem to mind), and Jack’s shampoo was replaced with brightly colored hair dye (courtesy of Teal’c and really, the bald guy nailing him with a hair prank is hitting low). 

Only Carter thus far has managed to escape their antics, rolling her eyes fondly at them all and giving Jack the once-over, taking in his bright blue hair and quickly ducking away to hide her grin. 

Daniel bumps her shoulder, “C’mon, Sam. We’re  _bored.”_

Sam just shakes her head, standing from the commissary table and collecting her dirty plates. “ _You_  may be bored. But  _I_  have orders to take apart, catalog, and replicate about a month’s worth of alien tech in the next week.”

And with a quick, deferential nod to O’Neill, she turns and walks back to her lab. Behind her, Jack watches as she disappears down the hall, a small frown on his face. It didn’t seem right that everyone else on SG-1 got to goof off while Carter was hard at work. 

An idea quickly formed and he huddled up with Daniel and Teal’c, pulling the salt and pepper shakers towards him as tactical representations of his plan. He was going to get Carter involved whether she wanted to or not.

* * *

 

Jack, Daniel, and Teal’c hovered outside Sam’s lab, their arms laden with chicken feathers and pillow cases, a canister of coffee, and a single water balloon. Jack had assigned duties to them all and masterfully planned the following events as if it had been an off-world mission. 

The first step would be to get Carter  _out_  of her lab. Prank or no, she would never, ever forgive them if they got feathers in her lab. Daniel was still in the doghouse after he smeared some cream cheese over the magnification lens of Carter’s favorite microscope. 

Holding a clenched fist up to indicate Daniel and Teal’c should hold their positions, Jack adopted a look of nonchalance and strolled into Carter’s lab, the coffee canister stowed behind his back. 

But the sight that met him was quickly becoming a familiar one: Samantha Carter slumped back in her high-backed chair, her lab coat draped over her like a blanket. On the table in front of her, Jack could see where she had blocked off time for a nap with the words “Rest!” in big, bold words on her calendar. He frowned when he saw she only gave herself fifteen minutes. 

His frown deepened when took in her appearance: a few extra lines around her mouth and across her forehead, circles beneath her eyes, and her hair haphazard from her fingers running through it over and over again.

Swallowing hard, he reached forward and tugged her lab coat up over her chin to keep her warm and once again, fought the ever-growing urge to push her hair back from her forehead. 

He leaned down over her calendar and scratched out her note, writing his own message to her, and left her to her cat nap, hoping she’d see his message when she awoke. 

With a last look at his 2IC, he turned on his heel and shook his head at Daniel and Teal’c. “Not today, boys.” 

Twelve minutes later, Samantha Carter woke up and groaned, stretched, and flopped forward onto her elbows, getting ready to tackle the next box of tech. She glanced at her calendar and was surprised to see someone had scratched through her napping schedule at each interval and extended the time to thirty minutes. 

_You need more than 15, Captain. Don’t make me order you. --J_

Sam smiled and traced the  _J_  with the pad of her index finger before sighing and adjusting her watch. She had work to do.

**III.**

Daniel, Janet, and Teal’c have been missing for five days. A Jaffa infantry attack surprised them all mid-gate home and before Jack and Sam could usher them through, the Jaffa energy blast hit the DHD, sending a spark of showers up and effectively closing the wormhole behind them. The Stargate could now only maintain an unstable wormhole for a few seconds before collapsing; not long enough to safely transport anyone across the galaxy.

General Hammond pursed his lips and set his gaze upon Sam. “Do what you need to do to get them home, Major. That’s an order.”

And she’d taken it to heart, opting to not leave her lab for anything, only stopping when sheer exhaustion forced her body to catch a few minutes of rest. The other scientists on the civilian consulting staff had been brought in to help draw up schematics and do the engineering when a task required more than the two hands Samantha Carter had. 

Worry and concern urged her to work harder, work faster, to bring her friends, her team, her  _family_  home. 

The Colonel stood like a stoic statue in the corner of her lab, sometimes choosing instead to hover in the doorway, dark eyes following her every movement, watching with pride as she organized and ordered the science staff. 

On the morning of day six, he came to the lab to find her wearily leaning against the mini coffeemaker he had bought her last Christmas. 

“Carter,” he greeted her, voice low and soft. He hadn’t been able to do much from this side of the ‘gate. But he  _could_  watch out for her, make sure she wasn’t running herself into the ground. 

Sam’s head whipped up, exhausted eyes growing wide and forcing herself to stand tall. “Sir, I  _almost_  have it. I can feel it. Don’t send me home.”

It bordered on insubordination, but she didn’t care. She  _needed_  to get her team back home. And with her history of falling asleep in her lab and the Colonel’s tendency to send her home, she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping while her friends were desperately trying to get home.

But he surprised her. 

He extended his hand forward and she saw that he was carrying a to-go coffee cup from her favorite coffee shop around the corner. He pushed the cup into her hand with a soft smile. 

“Bring them home, Major.”

The faith her had in her warmed her, energized her, and she grinned at him and nodded her head quickly. “Yes, sir.”

For a moment, their eyes caught--something that had been happening more and more regularly--and she rested her hand on his forearm. “They’re coming back to us, sir. We don’t leave men behind, right?”

Jack’s eyes went dark and soft and he covered her hand with his, a callused thumb stroking once, then twice, over the back of her hand. “Right,” he agreed, softly. Sam swallowed and looked down at his hand over hers, tan skin against pale, and for a brief, flickering moment, wondered what it would look like with their bodies pressed together--a blend of scars and a swirl of tan and fair skin. 

The Colonel drags his hand from beneath hers, breaking her from a dangerous thought. “I have a briefing with Hammond and then I’ll bring you something to eat.”

It wasn’t a question. Jack O’Neill would make sure she didn’t lose herself amidst the numbers and schematics and worry. He’d keep her afloat until she brought their team home and then he’d be there again to catch her when she collapsed and finally--finally--rested. 

She nodded and watched him go, lifting the coffee to her lips and taking a sip and sighing happily. He had brought her a cup full of hot, dark espresso, cream, and a dash of cinnamon. 

Sam stared thoughtfully after the Colonel, wondering if all COs remembered that in college their 2ICs drank straight espresso but couldn’t stand the bitterness and needed cinnamon and cream to make it tolerable.

Glad that he hadn’t made her leave, Sam sipped at the espresso once more, smiling softly. She had work to do and a team to rescue. 

**IV.**

Jack hiked the backpack more firmly over his shoulder, grumbling at the early hour and the things he does for stubborn 2ICs. He felt for a light switch and watched as Carter’s lab flooded with light, illuminating perfectly organized folders of designs and formulas and theories and gleaming equipment that had undergone a careful cleaning under Carter’s meticulous eye. 

Dropping his pack onto the floor, he bent down low, knees cracking and groaning, flipping open the bag and pulling out his wares. Standing with his arms full, he looked for a suitable place where he could deposit the goods. 

His eyes caught sight of her desk, tucked away from the main work surface in the middle of her lab. Atop the desk, he found a handful of framed pictures. A sandy-haired man with his arm around a red-headed woman and a few kids hugging their legs. He assumed this was Carter’s brother and his family. 

Next to that frame was a picture of Cassandra and Janet, a pair of ridiculous antlers on Janet’s head and an elf hat on Cassie’s. They were grinning broadly at the camera and a digital Christmas banner stretched across the bottom of the photo that read  _Merry Christmas!--The Fraisers_

Finally, the last frame made Jack’s breath catch in his chest, an odd warmth unfurling and washing over him. In a sleek black frame stood a picture of SG-1 at the last President’s military commemoration ball that he had never seen before. They stood tall and proud, their dress blues crisp and medals gleaming. Twinkling lights and champagne flutes adorned the background, but they as a team were the focus of the image.

Daniel and Teal’c had an arm slung around the other’s shoulders, smiles broad and eyes damp with laughter. He wished he could remember what had set them off into a fit of giggles.

But what caught his eye was himself and Carter. In the photograph, he was bent low and whispering something into her ear, his mouth twisted up into a wry smile. She stared into the camera, eyes twinkling with laughter and cheeks flushed a dusty pink. His arm was around her waist, his hand resting on her hip and pulling her close to his body, obviously in an attempt to pull their group together for a photo. 

But the photographer had captured this moment instead: a stolen comment whispered into her ear just to make her laugh and Daniel and Teal’c holding each other up through their own laughter. 

Jack dropped what was in his arms onto her desk and, with a last look at the framed photos of what Carter clearly considered to be her family, he scribbled a note for her to find in a few hours. 

A short while later, Sam strode into her lab, flicking on the lights, and frowning at the stack of linens on her desk.

Walking over to her desk, a smile curled at her lips as she took stock of the pillows, blankets, and extra, clean shirts that had been piled onto her desk. On top of the stack was a note. 

_Sam, since you can’t seem to stay awake in this lab, maybe these will be of use to you. --J_

_P.S. I want a copy of that photo. You looked beautiful that night._

Sam sucked in a breath at his post-script, her eyes reading and re-reading the last line. Since they had promised to leave behind the attraction, the tension, the feelings, between them back in the observation room, they had been so, so careful to not cross this line.

Slumping down into her chair, Sam buried her face into the stack of blankets and inhaled. It smelled like  _his_  detergent,  _his_  house, and she knew without a doubt that these blankets were his. That he was giving her a piece of himself to keep with her, to keep her company in the lonely nights that were just her and this lab. 

Sighing softly, she carefully tucked away his blankets and pillows and his note into the bottom drawer of her desk, safe and away from prying eyes. Emotions left in the room and blankets and notes locked in a desk. 

Everything back in its place.

**V.**

Area 51 is nothing like the SGC. Its halls are empty and quiet as everyone is studiously locked away in their labs, engaging in experiments and testing variables and confirming hypotheses. 

But Jack doesn’t mind. 

Empty halls mean a quick, uninterrupted route from the entrance to Lab 25: Samantha Carter’s lab. It had been weeks since their last rendezvous in Washington--a too-quick weekend that passed them by as they lounged in bed, arms and legs tangled between the sheets, soft murmurs and declarations exchanged and punctuated with kisses that ranged in soft and searching to passionate and desperate. 

And now the prospect of seeing her in a few seconds thrummed beneath his skin and his pace quickened, hasty salutes offered to the few military scientists he ran into on the way to her lab. He wanted to sweep her into his arms; wanted to slant his mouth over hers; wanted to grip her hips and pull her close and press his body to hers and--

He rounded the corner and almost audibly groaned at the predictable sight before him: Samantha O’Neill asleep in her desk chair, her head tilted back and mouth parted, her left hand resting on her swollen belly, protective of their child even in sleep.

The rising passion and ardor that had been building up to this point disappeared and in its place, something soft and protective and fierce took up residence as he shuffled forward towards his wife. 

Sliding his hand to cover hers, Jack felt their baby girl shift and kick. “You better get used to this, little one. Mommy spends a  _lot_  of time sleeping in labs when she isn’t supposed to be.”

He chanced a glance up to his wife’s sleeping face and reached forward to brush a stray lock of hair from out of her eyes--something that for so long he never thought he’d be able to do freely. 

Her eyes fluttered open as he cupped her face and pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

“Hey,” she said, voice soft and groggy from sleep. Jack nuzzled her nose with hers and slanted his mouth over hers, pressing an affectionate kiss to her mouth and sucking her bottom lip between his own, nipping softly. 

Sam’s free hand threaded through the fine silver-grey hair at the back of his neck and scratched slightly, returning the kiss. 

Breaking apart, Sam’s eyes flicked down to their joined hands resting on her pregnant belly. 

“Are you telling our daughter lies about me?” she teased. 

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Sam, I really don’t think you want me to tell you how many times I found you passed out in your lab or had to send Janet or Daniel down to make sure you were at least eating every once in a while.”

Sam blushed but didn’t deny it, just stuck her chin out defiantly. “Yeah, well, this time it’s  _your_  fault. You went and got me knocked up.”

Jack’s eyes darkened as his gaze swept over her body, pausing at the swell of their child. “Yes,” he breathed out. “Yes, I did.”

Leaning forward, he kissed his wife again, tongue sweeping over the seam of her mouth and stroking over her tongue and the roof of her mouth, swallowing her groan of pleasure. 

Finally, Jack O’Neill could wake her up exactly like he always dreamed. 


End file.
